Queen of the Risen
by La Reine Du Soir
Summary: Five years of rebuilding Plegia have come and gone, but as the Queen looks to the future, the past comes knocking with a proposition on its lips. [One Shot]


There was a knock on the door. "Milady," came a panicked voice.

"What is it?" She gestured for a servant to open it, and the guard stumbled into her chambers, face ashen.

"A man—a Risen—has come here demanding to see you. It is all he says over and over."

Too many men came demanding to see her, too many men wished to entice the fell dragon. But a Risen… well, that was a refreshing change, at least. She spun the ring that sat on her left hand, a force of habit from the days before her awakening.

"A Risen? Did you not try to put him out of his misery?"

"We made an attempt, milady, but he is strong and continued to make his demands." The guard swallowed, making a wet, hollow sound. "He took down two of my comrades and likely will cut down more."

She took in the wild fear behind his eyes and her interest was piqued. "I shall attend. What does Rul make of it?"

"He defers to you, milady."

"Of course," she murmured under her breath. Gathering her robes about her, she rose from where she had been lounging on the chaise, studying runes and spells. "Lead the way."

There was a strange feeling in her chest, and a sense of expectation lodged itself in her core. Quickening her pace, she realized that she had been anticipating this visit, this summoning, for a long while. It seemed decades ago since her coronation, but it had only been five years—five arduous years of rebuilding Plegia, five trying years of establishing herself and slicing down enemies. And yet she remembered her days in Ylisse clearly still. She remembered the endless fields, the smell of bear meat on the spit, the cheery hustle and bustle of the castle, and the pressure of a silk-enshrouded babe in her arms.

They made it to the great hall in good time, and merely steps from pushing through the doors, she stopped abruptly as words slipped through from the other side.

"I am no king of Ylisse, for I am king of the Risen." The visitor's voice rasped and echoed throughout the hall. "And I have come for my bride, the queen of Plegia, the fell dragon Grima."

She could not stop herself, her movements were automatic as she pushed open the doors separating her from her husband. Her eyes were drawn to him as she stepped forward, and though she was startled by his changed appearance, a flickering at the back of her mind recognized him instantly. He was as handsome as the day she had first laid eyes on him, a time that seemed to have been ages ago.

"Milady," Rul stepped forward and gave a low, sweeping bow, his willowy form bending almost in two.

She ignored him, her focus completely captured by the Risen before her. "Chrom," she said in a hushed tone.

"Robin," came his reply, and underneath the layers of death and defeat, she heard his true voice ring through.

"You are—you are Risen."

He gave a stiff nod. "I awoke on an altar, with new life breathed into these bones." His voice was rougher, warped with a dreadful weariness and hints of another world. "Death could not keep me from you."

She studied him for a moment. Undoubtedly it was him, despite how his eyes now gave off a ghastly red glow, despite the thorny crown perched atop his brow. The crown was not unlike that of Ylissean exalts in its thin, wiry shape, though his was corrupted a depthless black that gleamed in the hall's dim light. It was a crown not unlike her own with its elongated spires, and she became aware of its presence on her head. His armour resembled that of when he had been a great lord, but streamlined and fashioned to be claw-like at every edge. The metal was blisteringly shiny and blood-stained. If not for his unnatural, lilac-grey complexion, he looked nearly human, nearly alive. For a moment, she wondered what she looked like to him.

Since her awakening, she had cycled through a series of hairstyle and colour changes, but in the end, she had settled on her long, straight, natural pale silver that appeared almost pink in dying sunlight. Now a queen, she could not succumb to wearing the looser-fitting clothes she had been accustomed to, instead she opted to wear regal gowns of ebony and silver that demanded fealty and inspired men to fight for her. Usually she wore argent armour that gleamed like stars in the night sky, but hadn't thought to fasten herself into it before rushing into the hall. Although she was now a queen, she had been able to retain a cloak styled in the common Plegian way—a comforting reminder of her humble beginnings, a piece of her old life and all that she had accomplished with it. Could her Risen husband accept her new stylings?

Imperceptibly, she shook her head. Of course he would. There was no choice for him in the matter.

But what choice did he have in any matter now? She knew that the Risen solely obeyed thoughts of killing, that their entire drive for existence was predicated on it. But then again, he had had the thought to come here, and his speech was much more advanced than that of the Risen she had encountered in the past. If it wasn't thought that had driven him here, then what had?

"It seems we have much to catch up on. Walk with me," she paused, and a smile feigning sweetness spread across her face, "husband."

A guard stepped forward, all nerves and arrogance. "Milady, is that safe?"

Her eyes flicked to him and a raw energy fizzled in the air. "You question my power, my abilities?"

His expression soured. "N-no, milady. Never, milady!"

"Then you shall heed my judgement." She addressed her husband once more. "Come," she purred.

He followed her, his steps halting and stiff. She was surprised that he was able to keep pace despite the awkwardness of his gait. They passed through a narrow hallway, past archways and windows that allowed the parched, dry air of Plegia to waft in. The dragon part of her relished this scent of home while the human part thought of the green fields of Ylisse, the heat and history of Ferox, and the grand architecture of Valm. This was perhaps not the prettiest pocket of the world, but in all truth, a landscape of blood red beauty was all that remained of Ylisse, Ferox, and Valm. She had made sure of it.

Turning a corner, they came upon a courtyard that overlooked a sea of sand and dilapidated stone structures. They entered and she remembered fighting here so very long ago, Chrom standing by her side, shielding her whenever he could. Even then, she had known he'd loved her. But she had been young then, unaware of the greatness within her just barely beginning to awaken.

"Robin," he said once more, and it was apparent how much effort it required of him to make his voice steady.

"My name is Grima," she snapped, more of a reaction to the emotions that stirred at the sound of his voice than to the name itself. "I am the fell dragon," she said, her eyes flashing, and for a moment all six of her eyes were visible, casting a vibrant scarlet about her.

He did not react, but merely spoke. "And you are my queen."

She turned away, allowing herself a small breath. "Why are you here?"

"To claim what is mine."

"I am no simple creature to be owned or possessed."

"Of course not." His grin was wolfish, and she couldn't deny the slithering cold that wound its way down her spine. "I am not here to claim you. I am here to claim my place beside you."

"Beside me," she repeated, toying with the words. "Are you aware," she began, leaning in close, "that I am destined to be Grima? That I am destined to rule Plegia and bring despair upon the world? I have always been destined to do so." She paused at his stoic and unwavering gaze. "I would betray you again and again."

"And I would seek you out every time, in every lifetime of mine," he said, a growl pressing at the back of his throat. "Alive or Risen." He twitched or fidgeted, she wasn't sure which, and it was clear that a restlessness lay within him that had not been there before.

They walked in silence. Night was falling on the land, and the dust around them was slowly changing hues—from the golden brown of daylight to the lush indigo of nightfall. A coolness bit into the air and she pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

"How is it that you came here? You are most unusual for a Risen."

"I retain so little of my previous life, only my bond with you surfaces through the unrelenting desire to kill." His eyes gleamed in the dying light, his breath rattling as he sucked in air. "It surfaces again and again, resounding in my head, driving me mad."

Ah yes, she recalled him speaking of a bond—their bond—so long ago. She had come to wave it off as a foolish construct, a dreamer's idea. Certainly there had been a kinship between them, but what good had that bond done him? Perhaps there had been more to it than whispers, death, and betrayal. She wondered vaguely how much of that bond remained within her. Had it been eclipsed by the awakening of her power?

"This bond," she murmured, the words brushing like silk against her tongue, "is what brought you here."

He nodded.

"What makes you think that you deserve to rule by my side?"

His features twisted into a frown. "This is not about being deserving. I am the Risen king. I command an entire army of death and destruction. I have disintegrated villages and felled hundreds—nay, thousands with my sword. My deeds speak for themselves." He glowered at her. "There is no one closer to being your equal. I have heard that in another life, I nearly defeated you."

"Yes, nearly. I betrayed you, but you said it wasn't my fault."

"A belief I will hold for the rest of my existence. Our bond still rings true. Aside from bloodshed, it is the only truth I know."

"Perhaps our destinies are forever entwined." The thought disturbed her far less than it should have, and as she glanced at him, that shiver of desire rippled through her. He was more powerful than she'd thought given that he had managed to come here even after she had torn the life from his body. In spite of the changes in his reanimation, there was something unabashedly _him_ still lurking behind the fierce red eyes.

His gaze bore into her. "I am yours to command, as I always have been, across all of eternity."

Verity took root in his statement and she knew it in her darkest of hearts. If she had marched him to his death, he would have done so without question. If she had carved out his heart and offered it to another woman, he would have accepted his fate. Even if she had been born a king instead of a queen, he would have crawled his way into her tent every night regardless. His unswerving loyalty might prove useful even now—a powerful Risen king under her command, faithful until the bitter end. Armies had been built around far lesser beings.

"It has a certain ring to it," she said softly. "Queen of Plegia, queen of the Risen. And you—king of Plegia, king of the Risen, consort to the fell dragon, Grima."

"Does it please you?" A slightly mocking smile tilted his lips.

She hesitated, just barely holding back on her admission. Things between them had always been easy, perhaps too easy. She thought once again of the babe she had held in Ylisse, the embodiment of her strength and weakness. A tiny heir caught between two thrones.

They stopped walking and she turned to face him. "You said something to me once upon a time."

Slowly, he cocked his head to one side, and she reached up to curl her fingers against his cold, dead cheek. The motion was achingly familiar against the foreign feel of his skin.

"'We are two halves of a greater whole'," she whispered.

"Yes," he murmured, and slowly lifted her fingers from his cheek only to press them to his lips. "We are."

Her decision had been made and a heady thrum seemed to erupt from her chest into the air around them. Conviction slithered at the back of her throat as she spoke, "Then together, my love, we shall build a world of death, despair, and destruction."

His eyes flashed as he drew her close, unafraid of her as he always had been. He uttered the words that she had been waiting to hear. "Just you and I."


End file.
